Sunshine
by TricksterSherlock
Summary: "Bucky singing 'you are my sunshine' quietly as Steve dies in his arms." was the text I got from a friend (you know who you are), so that's exactly what I wrote. Established Steve/Bucky. Major character death (obviously). Oneshot.


Sunshine

Steve liked the song. The sweet little ditty that he would hum to himself sometimes while Bucky pretended he wasn't listening. _You are my sunshine_. Everyone knew it from somewhere, and Bucky supposed there was some simple charm to it. Something warm and pleasant that attached itself to Steve, as warm and pleasant things are wont to do.

Bucky liked the song because Steve liked it, and the things Steve liked had a way of being infectious, in the same way that the things Steve believed would soon be seen by Bucky as universal truths. Besides, it was a nice song. It seemed to fit with how Bucky saw his life at that time. It wasn't a matter of being unhappy; he was scarred, yes, but not unhappy. He liked his new life, despite the dark remnants of his old one still just there in his mind.

At some point- maybe when he was fully aware that he was really safe for the first time in a long time, or maybe when he and Steve had first kissed- the hollow void in his chest was replaced with sunshine. It was happiness, genuine, honest-to-goodness happiness. It didn't mean he didn't still get nightmares, it just meant that when he woke up everything was alright.

Step one Steve would move over to rest his head on Bucky's shoulder until the shaking stopped. And Bucky would wrap his arm around Steve and use him as an anchor tying him to the real world- the one with friends and safety and that happiness burning in his chest- and out of the world of nightmares. At some point Steve had started singing at these times. _My only sunshine_. And Bucky would think those words right back to him.

Because Steve had always been special, sunshine in his own right. Not Captain America; the myth that shone too cold and bright to hold, like burning magnesium to blind those who saw it. Steve was what Bucky had called him in that bar all those years ago, that kid from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight, and he shone like the late afternoon sun in pale gold. _You make me happy, when skies are grey_. Bucky never felt as safe as when he was holding Steve like this, warm and comfortable and breathing in time. It somehow made up for all those time he'd slept in the ice, not even knowing Steve's name.

It was the thing that made all the fights and chases okay. When their lives were in danger for the greater good, something Steve would always fight for, with Bucky always following. Or when they were running through the courtyard of a deserted apartment building, when the only light was the silver of the full moon, and the sudden sound of a shot echoed off the concrete walls. Bucky had his gun drawn and aimed immediately. He was good at this. And when he pulled his trigger the sound of his own gunshot answered the first. In the following silence he could hear his own heartbeat, loud and frantic, but he knew his shot was true.

Step two he was holding Steve again. The cracked tiles of the courtyard were almost painful under his knees but there was no space in his mind left to worry about that. In the darkness he couldn't see the blue of Steve's eyes, but he could see that they were wide, staring up at him while their owner fought to breathe. Bucky's shot hadn't been the only one that had been true, and for a moment Steve had been upright, swaying, his own fingers fumbling in slow motion for the hole in his abdomen. Bucky caught him before he hit the ground.

The blood looked black as it seeped from the wound beneath Bucky's metal hand, just as black as the thin line from Steve's mouth. The human hand was holding him up at the shoulder, head in the crook of the arm like a child- the kid from Brooklyn- and Bucky was singing.

_You'll never know, dear_… There were tears rolling down his cheeks, unimpeded. It had all gone wrong. It had all gone horribly wrong in the space of a heartbeat and he couldn't wake up. There were so many things he wanted to say but none of them would resolve themselves into words. Just vague thoughts of how important Steve was, how loved he was, and the English language would never be able to give them their proper meaning. He couldn't even bring himself to say that it would be okay. He couldn't let his last words to Steve be a lie.

So he sang- _how much I love you_- as Steve's hand tried to move, weakly, for Bucky's. It rested there, fingertips against metal, and Bucky couldn't do anything but wish that he could feel that last touch. He couldn't even sing anymore; there was no point. Steve couldn't hear him.

They buried him in the military cemetery among the rows of identical white headstones. A grave for Captain America, forgetting that kid from Brooklyn. It was a while before Bucky could make it there, assured that he was alone.

The stone was cold and hard under his human hand and he realised that he had no idea what to do. In all the TV shows and movies when the character came to the grave it was to make some moving speech, to say all the things that they didn't get to say in real life. But, standing there reading Steve's name in unfeeling white letters, that seemed so childish. What could that possibly achieve? It wouldn't make any difference. The kid was gone. The light had been extinguished.

The song rose to his lips but he couldn't bring himself to finish it. He never would. But still that last line ran through his head. _Please don't take-_

He was on his knees abruptly with his forehead pressed against the stone. And then he was crying, properly, with broken sobs and eyes he knew would be red and tears dripping off his chin into the soil. Only now there was no one to stop him shaking.

Step three he couldn't hold Steve anymore. So his arms wrapped tight around himself as if it were his blood draining out that he saw whenever he closed his eyes. As if he could keep that happiness inside his chest by force. But it was no good, it hadn't been his to begin with. It was Steve's, and Bucky had only ever been borrowing it.

_My sunshine_

The sun had been buried. Bucky was left alone to shiver in the gloom it had left behind.

_Away_.


End file.
